


You Need Some Guiding, Baby

by misanthropiclycanthrope



Category: Kingsman (Movies)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-11-14
Packaged: 2019-02-02 11:40:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12725955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/misanthropiclycanthrope/pseuds/misanthropiclycanthrope
Summary: Harry winced. He had so far proven more than adequate at adapting to undercover roles, but years of having propriety and decorum drilled into him was making this particular one a little harder to perfect.Luckily, someone volunteers to show him the ropes.





	You Need Some Guiding, Baby

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt: young Harry is on an undercover mission in a quite rough neighborhood and since he is a posh little fucker he needs Merlin to talk him through the customs of such circles.

“You’re gonnae stick out like a sore thumb.”

“I’m sorry?” Harry turned to find the eyes of Kingsman’s new tech recruit on him, assessing, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. Harry raised his chin a little, meeting his gaze in defiant challenge.

“You look like a posh bloke who’s had an unfortunate accident in Oxfam.”

At that, Harry frowned down at himself. “This was the best they had on offer.”

“Hmm.” A moment of contemplation, then, “Wait here a moment,” and he vanished back through the door.

Mildly bewildered, Harry did as he was told. For once. He wasn’t kept waiting long, and upon the tech’s return found himself the recipient of a small pile of neatly folded clothing.

“What’s this?”

A roll of hazel eyes. “They’re clothes.”

Harry would have taken exception to the sarcastic rebuke but for the glint of amusement in the man’s eyes. It was actually rather fetching. He merely raised an eyebrow in question.

“Trust me, put them on.”

Curiosity piqued, Harry stepped back into the dressing room, emerging a few minutes later to the sweep of a critical gaze. Clearly passing muster, he received a nod.

“Much better.” Then the eyes roamed higher. “Except…” And suddenly he was in front of Harry, long fingers pushing into his hair, tousling and reworking it from its neat, left-parted style.

Harry’s breath caught in his throat, and when he did eventually remember how to inhale, he caught a familiar scent and realised the leather jacket he was now wearing must belong to the man whose hands were currently playing through his hair.

When he stepped back, satisfied, Harry felt oddly bereft.

“ _Now_ you look the part.”

Glad of the excuse to hide the blush that must surely be colouring his throat, Harry turned to the mirror, inspecting his new look in its reflection. He had to admit it was much improved on his first attempt.

“Thank you…” He was ashamed to realise he didn’t even know the man’s name.

“Emrys,” came the response, unphased by Harry’s ignorance. “And what you mean to say is, ‘cheers, mate’.”

“Cheers, mate,” Harry parroted obediently.

“Christ, don’t make it sound like a bloody toast!”

Harry winced. He had so far proven more than adequate at adapting to undercover roles, but years of having propriety and decorum drilled into him was making this particular one a little harder to perfect.

“What are you doing tonight?”

The question took Harry by surprise and it was a moment before he replied. “Reading that, I suppose.” He gestured to the dossier Emrys had brought in with him, ostensibly the mission notes he had been tasked with delivering.

“Meet me later, the Red Lion at eight?”

Harry found himself readily agreeing.

* * * *

Twenty past eight had Harry joining a casually dressed Emrys at the bar of the pub.

“Yer late.”

“Terribly sorry, I—”

“Don’t fucking apologise.”

Harry bristled. As a knight, he was not accustomed to being spoken to so rudely, not by someone who wasn’t an international terrorist attempting to end his life, anyway. But Emrys was giving him a significant look, complete with raised eyebrows, and it finally dawned on Harry what this was all about.

“Yeah, my prick of a boss kept me waiting.”

Emrys snorted a laugh, hiding his smile behind his pint glass. He signalled to the barman for a drink for Harry, then led them to a free booth.

“Don’t you dare cross your legs,” he warned as Harry sat, pre-empting what was an instinctive action. “Yeh don’t want tae look all prim and proper in here. Yer trying tae blend in.”

Was it Harry’s imagination, or was the man laying on his accent a little thicker than normal? Either way, it rumbled pleasantly in Harry’s ear. It was a voice he could get used to listening to.

A couple of pints and cigarettes later, Harry had amassed a wealth of useful information. Observing the subject in the wild, as it were, with additional commentary from the man beside him.

“Don’t say ‘excuse me’,” Emrys advised, continuing a list of pointers. “Try not tae use words of more than two syllables, and whatever you do, do _not_ insult another bloke’s clothes, girl, or motor. Unless yer trying tae pick a fight.”

At that very moment, raised voices rang out from the end of the bar, the beginnings of an argument over, apparently, a _tart_. Harry assumed it was in distasteful reference to an unfortunate woman rather than a pastry treat, and the squabble appeared rather heated.

“And what do we do if a fight does happen to break out?” he asked.

Emrys grinned, his eyes glinting. “We bloody well get stuck in, of course!”

Sure enough, the sound of a bottle smashing over the edge of the bar signalled the start of a bar fight, and Harry and Emrys were out of their seats and into the fray a fraction of a second later.

* * * *

The cool evening air was soothing relief on their battered bodies, new bruises blossoming even as they exited the pub. But both men were smiling, the buzz of alcohol and adrenaline meaning they wouldn’t truly feel the ache until later.

They set off up the road, shoulders bumping together as they walked.

“I rather think I’m getting the hang of this.”

“You’re getting there.”

Harry was silent for a moment, considering his next words. “Hypothetical question. What would be the protocol if one wanted to see more of one’s companion?”

A frown creased Emrys’s brow. “I didn’t think this was a honeypot mission.”

“It’s not.”

Harry waited while that sank in, heart pounding in a way it hadn’t during the fight.

“Well, you wouldn’t invite them ’round to your place for tea.”

“Oh.” Harry mused on that for a moment. “So perhaps…” And in one smooth, bold move, he turned on his heel, grasped hold of Emrys by his lapels, and in a heartbeat had him pinned up against the wall inside the mouth of an alley, gasping at the ferocity of Harry’s kiss.

Then those deft fingers were back in Harry’s hair, dishevelling it further and angling his head to deepen the kiss. Harry pushed a thigh between Emrys’s legs, pressing up as Emrys ground forward, their bodies moving together in instinctive synchronicity.

When they eventually parted, each gasping for air, Harry met Emrys’s stunned gaze, watching it darken further as he licked his lips.

“Something more like that?” he enquired, affecting innocence but unable to stop the pleased smirk breaking free.

It took two attempts before Emrys found his voice. “Aye.”

Harry grinned brightly. “Since I’ve passed with flying colours, how about we retire to a more civilised location for the remainder of the night? Or, at the very least, somewhere with a bed.”

Emrys nodded without hesitation. “I'd say you’ve earned it, aye.”

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from The Rolling Stones' 'Let's Spend the Night Together'. Because that's what they're now gonna do xD


End file.
